


From Heaven on High and Hell Below

by AcierGlace



Series: The Apoco-Sequel: The Revenge [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, and Crowley (of the Crossroads), mentions of Gabriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcierGlace/pseuds/AcierGlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which nothing happens but the Plan moves forward regardless</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Heaven on High and Hell Below

“Well, be honest, angel. Were you really expecting someone reasonable?” Crowley asked over the phone, hissing and static popping around his words. It was unlikely that Crowley had slipped into less skin, so chances were high he was calling from somewhere heavy with grace (which often warped and misdirected electronic signals, simply because angels were beings of light and waves of intent – poor cell phone service could be relied upon). 

“I wasn't expecting reasonable.” Aziraphale sighed and looked around the remnants of the college campus library he'd tracked Gabriel's grace to. “I was expecting someone to care that we have a perfectly feasible plan to avert the current apocalypse without Michael or Lucifer possessing the vessels while at the same time reclaiming a weapon that could stand against God himself.” 

“You'd have been better off looking for Castiel.” Crowley hissed loudly, some distant rattling bangs echoing through the phone. Aziraphale righted one of the chairs and settled in to wait. He straightened the pile of magazines on the table in front of him, humming through the absolute cacophony of explosions and swearing through the phone.

“Everything going well on your end, then?” he asked in a lull where he could only hear Crowley's panting breathing in his ear. The demon (angel? Hybrid? Not quite one or the other and Angel of Adam Young, Anti-Christ, didn't roll off the tongue as easily as Angel of the Lord. He'd have to think about this.) snorted at him.

“I'm in the middle of a firefight between demons devoted to the Devil and hunters who'd sooner shoot anything they don't like the look of in the face. And I'm going to wring that bastard from Sales' neck. I can't even introduce myself without a shot of holy water to the face.” 

“I thought you had your grace back,” Aziraphale said, slight worry in his tone. The small area around him was neat and tidy, unlike the vast majority of the rest of the room, but he wasn't going to bother cleaning any of the rest of it.

“Yes, but the infernal taint on my wings seems to still react. And it would blow my cover to suddenly be awash in divine light, throwing my wing shadows over every surface, blasting out electrical charges.” Crowley paused. “Were you worried?” 

“No,” Aziraphale said immediately, “Should I have any reason to be? My grace might still be bound but I'm not incapable of riding off to your rescue.” 

“Spare me the sass, angel,” Crowley huffed, then grunted, and then there was an ear-splitting noise. Aziraphale held the phone as far away from him as possible, but it was little use. The phone fizzled in his hand and sputtered out in a shower of sparks, catching the magazines on fire. Aziraphale walked over to the water fountain, filling one of the provided paper cups and then dumping it over the mess. One of the many phones Chuck had provided him rang and he fished it out of his pocket. 

“I thought you said Gabriel was uninterested in helping,” Crowley said without any preamble. “Because I am looking at a town full of humans, demons forcefully extracted, and a bunch of hunters waving around pitchforks and torches, literally, mind.” 

“Well, that's interesting,” Aziraphale double-taked at the rest of the room, straightened out and tidied up as if he'd never had a raging meltdown on Heaven's Messenger within its walls, and only the damp magazines proof of his presence. “He was very adamant that he'd have nothing to do with any of it. Are you sure it was Gabriel?” 

“Unless Coyote and Anansi both were Seraphs in disguise and decided out of the blue to help me all the way out here in damned Wales, then yes, I'm sure it was Gabriel.” Crowley said. 

“In Wales? I thought you were on your way to Scotland?” 

“Apparently, it was drastically important to be here first,” Crowley drawled, and now he could hear the quiet hum of Crowley's Bentley and Chopin's “Killer Queen.” “At least according to chatter on Angel Radio and gossip from Downstairs. Seems like someone was going to try to stir up the Once and Future King by painting a bloody path from here to Avalon.” 

“Do you think maybe that sword-” 

“Already looked into it. While it's certainly capable of cutting down an angel, nevermind demons, it is not the First Sword.” 

“Drat.” 

“Aziraphale! Such language!” 

“I hope you hit traffic,” he said sweetly. There wasn't any point lingering here anymore, not now that Gabriel had moved on. Ohio University didn't have anything spectacular hidden away in its shelves and there was no longer any Trickster spirit flitting around punishing the deserved. The Greyhound he'd taken from Kirpke's Hollow was leaving in a few more hours to continue on to Columbus, so he'd try extending his search from the city. 

“In any case, both sides thought it'd be spectacular to get the King stomping around again, which seems like a righteously bad idea in my opinion. It's not like pagan magic begins and ends with his Right Hand and he'd never be swayed to the side of angels while that's true.” Crowley sounded tired, now that the adrenaline had waned and he was driving again. 

“No, I can't imagine that would go well at all,” Aziraphale agreed, strolling out into the night and slipping past the blockade barriers that ringed the building. He thought maybe one of the police officers was going to pull him aside, but Aziraphale averted his eyes and raised his chin, trying to look like the Interpol officer he'd presented himself as. (The Winchester Gospels were rife with extraordinarily helpful tips and tricks about deceiving government systems, which Aziraphale was planning to take full advantage of, as long as he was in service to the Ineffable Plan, so petty crimes like impersonating officers, using counterfeit moneys and identifications, and appropriating useful items could all be forgiven.)

“So now I am on my way to Scotland. Once I've the bones, I'm taking a trip Downstairs to try and weasel assistance out of my namesake. I might not be able to contact you anytime soon.” Crowley said quietly. 

Aziraphale bit his lip and tried not to let the immediate concern that rose up within him leak through his voice. “Will that be safe for you? If you get discovered Down Below, I can't imagine I'll be able to help without my Grace.” 

“That's why I need you to get to Castiel.” 

“And reveal myself to the vessels? I don't think that's a good idea, my dear.” 

“It is. Listen, you need your Grace unbound. Castiel couldn't have fallen that far as of yet to be unable to ritual off those accursed binds. I've told you the spell, the ingredients, and you know the words. Device's book is on its way to the Prophet as you requested. You can keep trying to search out the Sword, but I'll be more confident if you can rescue me should I need it.” 

Aziraphale frowned, a throb starting at his temples and stress washing through his body. He stopped on the sidewalk, letting students pass him by. 

“Angel, I can't pop over with everyone watching North America, specifically trying to root out demons and angels who don't belong. I pop myself over and I'll bring down the wrath of Above and Below right to your door. And no one will be there to stop any of this.”

“You have an amazing amount of faith in my abilities, Crowley.” 

“They underestimated us last time. They'll do it again. They don't think much of us who've spent time in the mud, who believe in this world and in their possibilities.” 

“You are a cheat,” Aziraphale felt abruptly annoyed, the conniving and placid tone Crowley had taken very rarely turned on him. He'd been more familiar with the salacious and whining pitch Crowley took to using when he wanted his way. “I don't Tempt easily. And I Flatter even less so.” 

“It's not Tempting if you know it's Tempting.” He could hear Crowley rolling his eyes, and could picture it if he tried, he was so familiar with those expressions. “It's not like I want to do this. I have no interest in being captured, let alone letting my secret out, and Sales will be even less likely to sell me out once I've got my coils around his throat.” 

“If I have to rescue you, if I need to set one feather Down Below, you will never, ever be able to forget about it. I will hold this over you for as long as you draw breath, serpent.” 

“I have been a terrible influence upon you, angel.” Crowley laughed, soft over the phone. “You'll go to Castiel, then?” 

“I must if I'm to be ready to save this world, if you're determined to be unavailable.” Aziraphale sighed and let the quiet settle between them. He dropped one hand into the pocket of his jacket, fiddling with the hex bag he'd whipped up (again, the Winchester Gospels were blessed, practical books) and contemplating to let Crowley know about it, that he could hide any popping from angels and demons alike. But he held back, reflecting over the determination he heard in Crowley's voice.

He didn't remember much about the Serpent before he Fell. They hadn't been friends, hadn't even been in the same garrison, and Aziraphale was hard-pressed to remember if he'd ever met Crowley before he Fell and they'd met again in the Garden. But he did remember other angels speaking with that same determination, the same pride and certainty of Right, when given commands from the Father. (Whether it was 'Go forth and proclaim “Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you” to the Mother of God' or 'Bless this creature, it is most beloved of me' and ensure platypuses adapted to their environment'). 

It wasn't his place to tell Crowley not to do it. 

“Be cautious. Whatever your plan is to be, get it done and get over here. You may have no love for convoluted prophecy, but if I need to take public transport to every major holy relic, this apocalypse may never be stopped.” 

“You only love me for my car, I see it now.” Crowley laughed again, much louder and significantly more obnoxious, but Aziraphale was an angel and spreading joy was one of his responsibilities. “Developed a taste for Queen, have we?” 

“I've never heard a sweeter rendition of Mozart's Concerto for Clarinet in A,” Aziraphale said with complete sincerity. 

“Be careful of Castiel,” Crowley said abruptly, humor gone from his voice. “He's an angel, when all else is gone, he's still an angel of Upstairs, and they've never been kind to you since the Garden.” 

“He's without any others, no allies among the angels, and only three humans for allies on earth. I know how it is to be without. Whereas I had your Tempting to Thwart and many, many years to do so, he's had no time at all with an apocalypse looming. He will be desperate. He will be hostile. But he is still one of the Choir, and I was the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. I have nothing to fear from Castiel.” 

“Do not force me to save you. I swear upon Adam, angel, there will be dire consequences. And don't mention me by name. Anthony should suffice, if nothing else.” 

“If I need you to save me, we're in far greater trouble,” Aziraphale said with feeling. “Don't die, my dear. Hopefully, I'll see you soon.” 

“Likewise, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely connected drabbles in mostly chronological order.


End file.
